I Won't Forget
by ennisjackgal
Summary: It's been a month since the fall, and John is spending the anniversary in the only place that makes sense to him.


_Author's notes_

_Hey guys! This is my first ever Sherlock fanfic, hope you enjoy :)_

_Kathryn xxx_

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**I Won't Forget**

_July 14th, 2011_

It had been exactly four weeks to the day since the fall. Nothing had really changed, except for the buzz in the media lately. The truth had come out at last and Sherlock Holmes was no longer a wanted man. People believed in him now, and there were some who theorised that he was still alive. Those who did had outlandish theories as to how he had survived. He'd gained new respect within Scotland Yard once they'd found out that his brilliant deductions had all been genuine.

But it didn't mean much to one person in particular, who'd had to deal with a great personal loss. Time didn't necessarily heal all wounds; he knew that from experience. The pain in his leg was phantom, but this pain was very real.

John stood at the grave, trying to think about what he wanted to say. He'd come here as often as he could, needing to be near his best friend even if the conversation was one-sided. He didn't think he could ever get used to that.

"You know...time was, I got sick of you commenting about everything. When we watched TV and you kept complaining that it was boring. It used to really piss me off. But now...it's boring to watch TV without all that." He bit his lip. "Sherlock...there were loads of times when you pissed me off, like when I thought you didn't care about that old woman or when I thought Mrs Hudson had been shot."

He sighed and looked around the deserted graveyard. "But you know what? In the end it didn't matter what you said or how you acted. I knew that you cared. You just dealt with it in your own way." He had known Sherlock's ways all along, and felt a little ashamed to have doubted his heart. He'd had one, despite what he'd said.

He fingered the newspaper article in his jacket pocket, thinking. "Your name got cleared a bit ago. I didn't realise at first that Moriarty had been up on that roof, and then they find your phone with a recorded confession from him. That Richard Brook was a false identity, and that you weren't a fraud. I was really happy when that made the news because...I knew, and I still do, that you were for real."

There was no answer from the silent grave, and he tried to remain stoic. "Sherlock, I...God help me, but...I miss you. There were times I wanted to punch you, even when you didn't ask me. But then I think about when we met Moriarty at the pool, or the times we've saved each other's lives. And I know...that's more important than anything else. I don't even care anymore if people think we were a couple; you were still my best friend and...that doesn't mean...that I didn't love you. Because I did, you know. You drove me up the wall sometimes, but I did love you. Sherlock, you really were my best friend."

John blinked back tears and walked over to the headstone, gently laying a hand upon it. "I, um...I wanted to say thank you. The first time I came here, I said that I owe you so much. And that's true. When we met, I was really messed up. Just back from war, wasn't talking to my sister and didn't really know anyone else. I was lonely in that flat on my own, and the blog didn't help like my therapist said."

He looked around the graveyard once more, and couldn't help but feel that he was being watched. "Um...well, when we met, you know what kind of state I was in. I don't think I need to tell you what I might have done with that gun if it had gone on for much longer, because...I was depressed. But then we met, and...Mycroft said I missed the war, and then he said welcome back. I know now what he meant. Working with you...it gave me a new war to fight. Just as dangerous, but a lot better than what I had before. And at least I had a comrade through it."

John looked down at the flowers Mrs Hudson had brought during her last visit; he knew that she missed Sherlock too. "You were wrong about one thing, though. You don't just have one friend. You have more than that. Mrs Hudson, Molly, Lestrade...I know he arrested you but he was just doing his job. When the truth came out he told me that he never believed you were capable of kidnapping kids. Donovan and Anderson say now that they believe in you, but I heard Lestrade telling Anderson that it's too late for that now. He's got a point."

He swallowed past a lump in his throat. "Well, I should get going. But there's one last thing. I'm sorry for what I said to you when I thought Mrs Hudson had been shot. I was scared and worried, and then you acted like you didn't care...it annoyed me. I shouldn't have insulted you the way I did, calling you a machine, and I'm really sorry. I knew you better than that. You'll always be my best friend, Sherlock."

John patted the stone awkwardly and then marched off, trying to keep his emotions in check. He wasn't ashamed to shed a tear for what he'd lost, but keeping it together was ingrained in him from the army. He walked off through the graveyard, not noticing the shadow in the trees. He would never be as perceptive as Sherlock; nobody could ever be like him.

Sherlock had been near enough to see John visiting his grave, but hadn't been able to hear anything. He was concerned about getting too close and revealing himself before it was time. Everything had to be planned carefully if it was going to work, and he simply couldn't reveal himself to John just yet. He did still hope that he would be able to one day.


End file.
